


silver-white winters that melt into springs

by postfixrevolution



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Banter, Confessions, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Romance, Sylvix Week 2019, aka i have a wonderful time writing felix's bitchy inner monologue, sylvix week day 1: reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 01:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: "Don't you think he looks like a little puppy?" Annette giggles. Felix, really not in the mood to blind himself with how much she isactuallysparkling right now, turns his head back toward Sylvain. It's like a fucking curse how the other man looks over to meet Felix's eyes at the exact same time, and the speed with which his expression lights up is rivalled only by how quickly Felix's pulse skyrockets in his chest. He tears his gaze away, feeling hot."Maybe you're right."Annette looks absolutelyflooredto hear Felix agree, and the way her eyebrows practically fly halfway up her forehead twists Felix's lips into a wry smirk."Oh, Iknewyou'd agr—""Sylvain's definitely a littlebitchif I ever saw one.""Felix!"they rebuild the greenhouse first.





	silver-white winters that melt into springs

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in an absolute fever dream state 2hrs before sylvix week day one was supposed to end, so it is unbeta-ed and a hot mess but i _love_ it anyway.
> 
> sylvix day one prompt: reunion

"Aww, _ come on_, Felix," Annette coos, cradling her cheeks and looking disgustingly starry eyed at the sight in front of her. Felix knows well enough what's in front of them, but saints a-fucking-_bove _ if he thinks it's worth her excited fawning.

They're repairing the greenhouse right now, clearing the weeds and planting new flowers in the freshly recovered dirt. Felix and Annette are knee deep in soil and the scattered carcasses of uprooted weeds. The starstruck lilt of sweet Annette's voice makes Felix wish there were still some weeds left, if only so he could drive his trowel into their unwelcome roots and tear them out.

Yeah, he's a little upset. 

He has a valid reason, though, because of course — of _ course _ — Annette would be cooing like this over _ Sylvain_. Of all fucking people. 

Felix leans back on his haunches to glare at the paladin, as if the redhead could see him from halfway across the goddess-damned greenhouse. (It isn't a big building, really, so maybe if Felix glares hard enough, Sylvain will feel it sear into the back of his stupidly perfect nape.)

The grin Sylvain wears is ridiculously chipper and the pot of flowers he holds is an even brighter orange than his hair — a feat Felix never imagined was physically possible. The blindingly orange monstrosities stretch upward from their ceramic and soil home, bouncing gently as Sylvain ambles side by side with Ashe. Felix's mind supplies the imagery without his permission: flowers stretching up to greedily drink in the liquid sunshine that seems to all but drip from Sylvain's blindingly bright smile. 

Felix's mind, he decides, is a fucking traitor. 

He tears his gaze away to unleash his frustrations on poor Annette, who's still too wrapped up in her stupid gushing over Sylvain to notice, anyway. 

"He looks so happy! It's a_doooor_able how much he looks like an excited puppy around all these flowers." Annette stops her stupid gawking for a second to turn toward Felix. The expectant gaze she shoots his way isn't any less irritating, and — as sweet as Annette is — Felix refuses to scowl any less than he already is. Sweetness does _ not _ belie innocence, and no one who can call Sylvain adorable is innocent. 

"Don't you think he looks like a little puppy?" she giggles. Felix, really not in the mood to blind himself with how much she is _actually_ sparkling right now, turns his head back toward Sylvain. It's like a fucking curse how the other man looks over to meet Felix's eyes at the exact same time, and the speed with which his expression lights up is rivalled only by how quickly Felix's pulse skyrockets in his chest. He tears his gaze away, feeling hot.

"Maybe you're right."

Annette looks absolutely _ floored _ to hear Felix agree, and the way her eyebrows practically fly halfway up her forehead twists Felix's lips into a wry smirk.

"Oh, I _ knew _ you'd agr—"

"Sylvain's definitely a little _ bitch _ if I ever saw one."

"_Felix!_" 

Oh, he's absolutely _ grinning _ now, all sharp teeth and bright copper eyes. It's a rare sight — Felix knows it — and if Annette isn't going to count her blessings when they crop up, then it's her loss. And boy is she losing: her mind, at least. She looks absolutely tortured to have heard him say such a crude thing, which almost (read: absolutely) makes Felix lament how much five years can make the mind forget. 

(It's also a saints-forsaken shame how much Felix has forgotten about the way his heart rate spikes every time Sylvain levels him with that too-eager smile. He really, tragically _ did _ spend five years thinking that, the next time he ends up face to face with Sylvain, he'd be able to breathe like a normal, functioning person. 

If anything, it's Sylvain's fault for being so _ ab_normal. If the smiles he would gift Felix with were just the same glib ones he makes all the girls swoon with, the swordsman would be flustered but functioning at worst. But when stupid Sylvain blasts him with a face full of earnest, _ honest _ fondness, Felix forgets how to _ breathe_. 

It's downright debilitating.)

"I know you're always this..._Felixy_, but don't you think that's a bit much?" Annette is pouting now, forgoing the anguished expression in favor of something a little less overt. Felix arches an eyebrow at her. He doesn't even have to verbally point out her choice in words for the mage to realize his point of contention. Flushing bright red, Annette averts her eyes with a muttered, "oh, shut up." 

Felix's "_I didn't say anything_" is implied, and the fact that they both still manage to hear it only drives her pout deeper. The small smirk he adopts in response is decidedly less wicked than his first.

"Pass me that trash bag," he tells her abruptly, gathering up a bunch of their decimated weeds in one hand. With a quiet huff, Annette complies. Scandalized as she may be at Felix's _ felix-isms_, she's never been one to slack off. He supposes that's one of her own _ annette-isms_, things about each of them that even five years can't take away. 

"You don't have to do it _ alone_." Falling back onto her knees, Annette also starts grabbing at the limp green foliage, uncaring of the dirt she smears across her palms and leggings as she does. She hums softly as she works, a habit that leaves nostalgia lapping gently at the shore of Felix's thoughts, and the gentle sound of it makes time pass that much faster. 

They're done before either of them realize it, and Annette leans back to survey their work with a grin. 

"Not bad," Felix mutters, and Annette nods eagerly in agreement. The longer they spend time together, the more easily they fall into the same patterns as before, and she reads him with ease.

"Must mean we did a pretty good job if you're complimenting it," she teases, shooting him a playful wink. Felix rolls his eyes at her, but there's an undeniable fondness to it, one that Annette easily recognizes, if her bubbly giggle is anything to go off of. 

She rolls back onto her heels with an air of finality, taking the bag of foliage with her. As Annette stretches, she peers around the rest of the greenhouse, eyes lingering on the other two men working on replanting the flower bed in the far corner. 

"The professor only asked us to clear the weeds," she hums, "so I guess that means we're done for the day, right?" Her eyes linger on Sylvain and Ashe, lips curling into a contemplative pout. "But maybe they need help? Ohhhh, you don't think the professor had something else planned for us after this, did you? Maybe I should ask..."

Felix stands, dusting off his knees. 

"Yeah, I'm going to ask the professor!" Annette decides, nodding resolutely. "And I can take the trash out too, Felix, so don't even worry about it!"

He's still halfway in the process of tugging off his muddy gloves, so he doesn't even get to respond before she bounds off toward their fellow cleaning crew, trash bag swinging at her side. It's so undeniably _ Annette _ that Felix can only snort softly as he watches her go.

"Ashe, Sylvain, I'm about to throw some things out! Is there anything you want me to take with me?" 

Felix begins rounding up their weeding tools as the other three converse, trying not to listen too hard as Sylvain lays the gratitude on thick as always, so quick to tell Annette not to worry her lovely little head over it. The way she almost immediately reprimands him — accusation rich in her voice as she reminds him that she's _ offering _ and that he should really consider accepting it — makes Felix bite back a grin. 

"We _ do _have some pots that need to be taken back to the storage room," Ashe offers, quickly cutting between Annette's narrowed eyes and Sylvain's doubtlessly lascivious next remark. He looks toward the stack of ceramic pots that he and Sylvain had emptied while refilling the flower beds and Annette follows his gaze. Her lips twist into something guilty as she looks at them, cheeks puffing.

"It might take a few trips, if that's alright," she murmurs, "but consider it done!" 

"Oh, don't worry, Annette!" Ashe exclaims. "I didn't mean to ask you to do it all alone." He stands up, shaking the loose soil from his gloves. "Let me help. It'll get done much faster this way, too."

Annette beams up at him gratefully, and Felix can see two things: the way the younger boy's cheeks flush in the face of her brilliance and the way Sylvain sees it, too, hazel eyes glinting as his smirk grows into something positively _ wicked_. His gaze catches on Felix's all the way across the entire fucking greenhouse, and — Felix can't tell if it's the impending scheme or that bright, breathtaking sparkle in Sylvain's eyes — his heart leaps into his throat in an acrobatic stunt that makes his head spin. 

"I can finish up here, Ashe, so why don't you go ahead?" Sylvain gently tugs the trowel out of Ashe's limp hands, shooting the boy a wink in its place. "It'd be rude to let such a lovely lady run grueling errands on her own, after all."

"Your terrible flirting never changes, Sylvain," Annette groans, but she rolls her eyes fondly, unable to help her grin. "Thanks, though. C'mon, Ashe, should we get going?"

Ashe snaps out of his red-faced stupor when she addresses him, and it's really just a fucking miracle that Annette doesn't seem to have noticed. Felix nods at both of them in farewell as they head out, dropping his tools off to the side of the building and fully prepared to do the same, himself. 

At least, that was the intention. Sylvain, as it seems, is more than eager to throw a wrench in even the simplest of Felix's plans.

"Ohhh _ no _ you don't."

Muddy fingers wrap around Felix's wrist before he even registers that Sylvain crossed the greenhouse to meet him, and Felix is suddenly (and _ oh _so woefully) stuck between wanting to tear his hand from Sylvain's grip and just — standing there, with his heart pounding thunderously in his chest and Sylvain's dirty hands smearing...even more soil onto the sleeve of his tunic. 

Okay, he decides that he wants to rip his hand from Sylvain's grip. The ring of dirt does not go away, and neither does the heat of those fingers wound so firmly around his wrist.

"C'mon, _ Fe_," and the nickname tears at him, makes his chest swell when in conjunction with the gentle curl of Sylvain's smile, "you gotta help me finish up planting the rest of these flowers. I can't do it all my _ own_."

Typical. 

Felix snorts.

"Unlike you," his lips twist up into a smirk, "I didn't send my partner away to flirt until _ after _we finished our assigned task. Good luck finishing up the flower beds, Sylvain."

"Hey, don't be like that!" His hands find Felix's again, tugging him around to face him. 

Annette's words come back to mind at the expression Sylvain wears: puppy dog eyes when he asks him, "At least stay with me until I finish, will you?" and an absolute _ bitch _ of a self-satisfied grin when Felix rolls his eyes but nods, sitting down on the planter right beside him. 

"Couldn't say no to me, huh?" Sylvain winks, and Felix only crosses his arms, shooting him an extremely unamused look as Sylvain hunches back over the plants. 

"I'll leave."

"No, you won't."

"But I _ will _ be thinking about it." Felix says this like it's an effective threat, which — in hindsight — it really isn't. Even Sylvain seems to realize this, snickering softly from above the flowers as he works. Felix aims a kick at the back of Sylvain's feet to quiet him, and it works just as well as he had expected. Sylvain, the absolute bastard, does not stop snickering. The swordsman can think of a myriad of other ways he would _ love _ to shut the man up, but his mind really doesn't need to dwell on those. He shoves them away neatly, but goddess if the whisper of _ with your lips _ doesn't rattle for an additional few seconds in his head. 

"Sooo, you're really _ not _gonna lend a hand, are you?" Sylvain tries again, tossing Felix a glance over his shoulder. It's as hopeful and bright-eyed as ever, and Felix will insist that if Sylvain had turned away immediately after asking, he would not have done this. 

He would have remained sitting, frowning as flatly as ever, and he _ would not _ have done a thing. It's only because of the added few moments that those hazel eyes linger — looking at Felix as if they're waiting for _ something _ (something that they knew only Felix could give) — that Felix drags himself up with a strangled snarl, snatching a shovel from the other planter and kneeling angrily at Sylvain's side.

Sylvain opens his mouth, either to say something grateful or say something teasing — whatever it is, Felix already knows that it'll be entirely stupid on top of that — but the other man cuts him off.

"Don't."

That mouth, silver tongued and far too talkative for its own good, does not. 

Sylvain is pleasantly silent as Felix helps him level the soil around the freshly planted flowers, slowly but surely bringing the old greenhouse back to its former glory. Felix isn't sure how long they spend rearranging fucking dirt in amiable silence, but when they're done, Sylvain flops back onto his ass in the middle of the greenhouse, looking extremely pleased with himself. 

"Two good deeds done!" he grins. "I'm on a roll today."

"Two?" Felix arches an eyebrow at his companion, seating himself carefully at his side. 

"The planters and helping Ashe get the girl of his dreams, _ duh_." 

Felix snorts.

"If you think that single attempt at matchmaking will be enough to do either of them any good, you're even more idiotic than you were five years ago. Even Ingrid might be less oblivious than Annette," he murmurs, grimacing at the comparison. It really isn't a kind comparison. "Seeing Ashe blush that much was embarrassing."

He has never been and doesn't plan on becoming a religious man, but Felix _ prays _ that he never ends up looking the unfortunate same. He's not sure he could handle the heat rushing so easily to his cheeks, and he _ knows _ Sylvain is far from oblivious. Just his luck, really, that the man he has feelings for is one of the sharpest-eyed bastards he knows. At least the goddess graced him with a perpetual scowl, too, otherwise he truly would be fucked — and not even in the good way, his (traitorous, horrible, _ accurate_) mind supplies.

"Leave the poor guy alone, Fe— He's in love!"

"Yeah, and it's embarrassing for everyone involved." 

"Ever the downer, aren't you?" Sylvain snorts. "Five years not enough to loosen you up? C'mon," he leans conspiratorially close, bumping his shoulder against Felix's own, "didn't find someone to help keep you warm during the winters? Fraldarius is only barely warmer than Gautier."

Felix rolls his eyes, bumping Sylvain back. He smells too much like damp earth and the gentle twinge of citrus that floats on the steamy surface of his bergamot tea, and the sweet scent of it does Felix's mind no good. 

"In case you didn't notice, Sylvain, we've been at war for the past five years."

At that, Sylvain has the decency to let out a sheepish laugh.

"Yeah," he sighs. "We have been." Leaning back on his palms, Sylvain sighs again, tilting his head back to look lazily over at Felix. "But I feel like things are changing. They _ will _ change. The professor's back and Dimitri—" Sylvain stops, a wince flashing visibly across his features, "Dimitri's in there, somewhere," he says softly, looking out toward the main body of the monastery. Felix does not follow his gaze out.

"It's all the more reason to chase after what matters, right?" 

It's an innocent enough question, one that Felix can see leading back into more talk of bedmates and women and everything he couldn't give less of a shit about, but— 

But Sylvain looks at _ him _ as he says it. He chases eye contact in a way that's always been his very own, but he lingers on it, on Felix's wide copper eyes with none of his nonchalant smiles and shimmering honey-hazel ease. There is something unwavering and dangerously, hopefully curious in this look, and it's _ unfair _ how quickly it takes Felix's breath away, makes his pulse skyrocket so fast that it launches itself into the space behind his ears, thudding relentlessly away. 

Felix swallows around a too-tight throat, praying to every fucking saint above that he isn't blushing — but he's warm, his cheeks are warm and the thought that Sylvain can see them (see _ him)_ doesn't help — as he averts his eyes. Sylvain wants eye contact, seeks it out for a reason that's way too loud when the pounding in Felix's ears to already more than loud enough, and Felix, for the saints-forsaken _ life _ of him, can't meet that stare.

"If you're looking for my _ permission_," Felix garbles— 

"Not just your permission, really," and Sylvain's hands are muddy and warm and they move to caress the curve of Felix's jaw like he is something to be _ revered_, "I was hoping for the rest of you, too." He tilts Felix's head so that their eyes can meet, and Felix,

Felix cannot _ breathe_.

The way Sylvain looks at him sets him on fire, and it aches how much Felix has dreamed about and seen in his own lonely reflection the burning thing that shines in Sylvain's eyes right now. His hand comes up to brush against the back of Sylvain's own, and he wraps soil-covered fingers around that warm wrist, tugging the paladin tighter and closer and not even beginning to fathom the idea of ever letting go. Goddess above, he doesn't want to let go. 

The touch makes Sylvain's suck in a sudden breath, gaze heavy on the place where their hands connect, but he doesn't move away.

"I..." His fingers curl closer, slotting themselves against the line of Felix's jaw. "I'm sorry if it's sudden; five years felt _ excruciating_, Fe, especially when you weren't there like you always used to be, and I—"

"Stop _ apologizing_."

"—but _ Felix_."

"_Sylvain_."

"You were right there," Sylvain tells him. "A few days away on horseback, and I could have seen you. I had five years worth of opportunities to—"

"Chase after what matters?" Felix asks wryly. Sylvain laughs, a breathy and embarrassed sound, and it stops his rambling. It lets Sylvain breathe and, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, it lets Felix breathe, too. He lets himself lean into the warmth of Sylvain's palm against his cheek, lets the sheer magnitude of what they have just said settle neatly into the soil and flower beds alongside them.

"I think five years made it worth it," mutters Felix. The words snap Sylvain's gaze right back onto his, but it's always hard to meet that intensity, even more now that he knows that what burns behind them is— 

"Five years worth of really fucking terrible pining?" Sylvain asks. Rolling his eyes, by virtue of lifting them away from the floor, allows Felix to meet the other man's gaze. 

"If you think five short years is worth complaining about, then you're pathetic."

And Sylvain catches the hidden meaning behind that, the sharp-eyed bastard that he is. It makes his eyes widen almost comically, but even the amusement Felix draws from that is blown out of the water by the bright red that blossoms across Sylvain's face as his jaw falls slack. 

"Y-you mean—"

"_Yes_," Felix intones, only somewhat exasperated. The elation building up in his chest overpowers it, really, and he uses all of his willpower to look Sylvain in the eye as he speaks, unable to help the rising heat of his own cheeks. "You made me wait _ too _ long for this, Gautier, so _ please _ just—"

"This is the part where I kiss you, right?" 

Felix threads his fingers into Sylvain's hair, drinking in the goofy smile on his lips and feeling a matching and absolutely _ridiculous _one curling up on his own. He very much plans on kissing Sylvain's away, but the excited thing that rumbles and swells in his chest tells Felix that his own grin might not be so easily banished — might not _ ever _ be banished, which is a terrible and embarrassing (read: _ wonderful_) thought all its own. 

Saint above if he won't try, anyway.

(Sylvain still smiles into their first kiss, giddy laughter bubbling between them until Felix has to pull back and fall victim to the same bug as he tries to silence him. 

Their second kiss is better, the curve of Sylvain's lips making it easier for him to nip gentle, loving bites against Felix's own, and by the dizzying, perfect third, Felix has woefully resolved himself to a future of stupid, smiling kisses and the exhilarated flutter of his heart at every single one.)

**Author's Note:**

> [@panntherism](https://twitter.com/panntherism) on twitter!!


End file.
